Something Human
by KaliShu
Summary: Rick and Daryl find themselves alone in this new world. What happens after is only human.  Rick/Daryl slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Something human**

**A/N: ** The other kinkmeme fill I'm working on, inspired by the prompt: "Daryl/Rick - Mutal bamfness = epic hawtness; because we all know the sex would be explosive". Apparently I am unable to write a short fill, so this is the result. Pairing is Rick/Daryl and past Rick/Lori, so if slash is not your thing, don't read. Also, this is an AU, where (in my head at least) the characters turn around when they hit that traffic jam in 2.1 and try to find an alternative route. First chapter is heavily edited to comply with ffnet's TOS. For those of you 18 or over, you can visit my livejournal (username Kalishu) for the original (and very much NC-17) version of this chapter. Still a WIP, so expect updates every week to two weeks. Thanks for reading!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own The Walking Dead and am just borrowing the characters for fun, not profit.

**Now:**

They don't talk, not really. No pet names, no declarations of love. But they learn to ride the crash of adrenaline down through its natural course, learn what to do when the fear of death turns into lust, learn how to ride that lust and remember that they're still alive and how to do it together when there's no one else around. It's only human.

The silence after a fight is deafening, in comparison. The house still creaks around them, its open shutters flapping in the wind that comes with the afternoon thunderstorms. The dead lay piled at their feet, a mass of rotting limbs and mottled skin and black, dead blood. Now that their moans have silenced, the only noise comes from the wind. It's like the whole world is dead around them, the only things left a reminder of what once was. Rick looks over towards Daryl, splattered in blood and other things that once would have been unmentionable but now just aren't worth mentioning. His face and bare arms are caked with dirt, and he stands clutching the machete he picked up when the combat shifted to close quarters in front of him as his eyes scan what was once the yard of this old house, still looking for danger. His breathing is as ragged as Rick's own, eyes still a little wild and everything about him so full of life that Rick can't stop staring.

"You hurt?" Rick asks, moving closer, almost touching. He can feel the heat of Daryl's skin, smell the sweat and the stronger, underlying scent of someone who's gone too long without a shower. Rich reaches up to trace the almost-hidden path of a scar that's fresher than the rest on Daryl's chest. Daryl recoils with a jerk, trying to hide the motion with a hard kick to the head of the nearest Walker.

"Son's a bitches didn't know who they was messin' with," he spits, sheathing the machete and picking up his crossbow from where he had discarded it in the chaos. It's only when he finally gets his breathing under control that he looks Rick in the eye. The wildness is gone, replaced with something else. He gestures with his chin towards the door of the old brick manor house they'd used to make their stand. "Upstairs?"

Rick takes this as his cue and moves close again, and Daryl's flinch is muted this time, tempered by something else. "It's safer," Rick murmurs, one hand moving bringing Daryl's head closer to his even as the other moves south. Daryl is half hard already under his jeans, and as Rick rubs him he makes a sound that could be agreement or could just be need.

Getting into the house and upstairs is harder than it should be. Daryl grabs Rick by the ass and pulls them together with one hand, all the while keeping a hold of that damn crossbow with the other. They bump awkwardly into the doorframe as they both wrestle to be in control, and barely pause to make sure the door is secure behind them before they're on the floor and Rick finds himself thanking whatever god there might be for making so many plaid shirts with snap buttons as he lays on his back on the hard floor beneath Daryl.

"We should get upstairs," he manages, as Daryl fumbles at the real buttons on Rick's police uniform, cursing.

"Cleared the house earlier," Daryl mumbles into Rick's neck, apparently giving up on the buttons and running his hands up underneath Rick's shirt, strong hands on Rick's stomach making Rick shudder.

Rick flips them over with a move he learned at the academy, a move he knows Daryl could stop but doesn't. Daryl uses their new position to sit up and pull Rick's shirts off over his head, then leans forward to bite at a newly exposed nipple. His hands find their way to the front of Rick's belt, undoing the buckle before slipping into the back of Rick's pants. Rick groans and thrusts down against Daryl, feeling the other man just as hard as he is beneath him and suddenly wishing for a lot less clothing between them.

"Upstairs," Rick insists, standing and pulling Daryl up with him. "We can see and hear better up there." He leans forward and gives Daryl a deep kiss, and it tastes like blood and ash and dirt and sweat, and Rick knows he tastes the same.

"Fuck you," Daryl drawls, but there's no heat in it and he complies, and they carefully pick their way up the rotting staircase as quickly as they can.

The second story is mostly gone. The floor near the interior walls is stable enough, but something blew out most of the outer wall on two sides, and the remains of the roof are a crumbling mess in the yard below. It's raining steadily now, and Daryl pulls them out into it. It washes off the dirt and gore, and when Daryl kisses him, Rick only tastes Daryl this time.

* * *

><p>In the aftermath, they lie together on their sleeping pads, laid out on the floor under the overhang of what used to be the roof.<p>

Rick thinks he could just fall asleep now, and feels himself start to drift. Daryl has pulled away a bit, but is still lying next to him, his body warm at Rick's side. A loud noise in the forest has Rick sitting up, searching for shoes and the gun he left lying by stairs, his exhaustion forgotten.

Daryl joins him, slipping into his own boots and picking up his crossbow. The rain has lessened now, only a few drops splashing off their naked bodies. Rick moves over to look out over the canopy of trees, barely highlighted by the rays of the emerging moonlight, Daryl a silent shadow by his side. All is silent. Rick sits at the edge of the drop off, legs dangling over what was once a solid wall, and Daryl sinks down beside him. They both clutch their weapons tightly, eyes scanning the space between the shadows cast by the trees, looking for anything that might be moving, anything that might come threaten them in their downtime.

They don't talk, not really, but sometimes in the aftermath of blood and sweat and sex, words slip out.

"I loved her," Rick admits. "Our marriage went to shit, and then the world went to shit, and I thought if I could just hold onto her, everything would be alright, because we only needed each other. And when she was gone, I thought… I thought, this is when the world ends. Not when I was sleeping in a hospital, not when the dead rose. It was then."

Rick stares out at the night sky, the dark canopy of trees rustling in the wind. It's a warm night, and sweat trickles down his face but no tears. He has no tears left to cry for this world.

Daryl shifts beside him, puts a hesitant hand on Rick's shoulder. His grip is loose at first, but tightens as they sit in silence under the dispersing storm clouds. The night comes alive again, cicadas calling, and somewhere far away the high pitched yipping of a coyote. Rick looks over to see Daryl staring at him.

"Ain't a fag," Daryl states, scowling and looking away. "I ain't ever gonna say it."

Rick nods. "Me either."

But Daryl lets Rick hold him without flinching and they stay close to each other that night, the stars glittering above them and the woods empty around them. It might not be love, but it's something human.


	2. Chapter 2

**Ch. 1**

**Then:**

_Don't go._

It had been the last words Lori had said to him. The last words he'd ever hear from her.

But he'd gone. He'd clasped her cheek in one hand and promised he'd be back and gave her a kiss to hold onto that promise with, and then left with Daryl at his side. He'd looked back before the road turned, saw her standing in the distance on top of that hill, Carl at her side, hazy figures in the bright sunlight. It was the last image he had of her, of his son, and he held onto them as best he could. Saw them at night when he slept, conjured them in his mind in the times when the world stilled and they had a moment to breathe, to relax, to prepare for whatever blow was coming next.

He'd gone, scouting up the road with Daryl to see what was ahead before they attempted to navigate the bulky RV through the pack of cars that clogged the road. He'd gone, eight miles down the road, where he and Daryl found the remains of a military barricade and together had killed the few walkers that roamed behind the sandbags and in between the tanks. It had been a joyous moment when they'd found the stash of ammo and grenades in one of the tanks, obviously some poor soul's last stand against the walkers. It was Daryl who had stumbled upon it, using his buck knife to take out the walker in BDUs inside the tank. He'd whooped loudly, the sound echoed and enhanced by the metal of the tank, and Rick ran over grimly thinking that Daryl was being attacked, but the other man just stuck his head out of the top of the tank with a huge grin on his face, holding a handful of weaponry, and Rick couldn't help the smile that spread across his face in return.

He'd gone, and by the time they returned to the hilltop rest stop they'd left the others at, it was too late. The miles back to their impromptu camp had flown by, their spirits buoyed by the thought of more supplies, of something besides beans and squirrel to eat, of new guns and ammo and even grenades to help keep them safe. They alternated between a fast walk and an easy jog, eager to recruit the others to help carry their newfound wealth back to their caravan since there was no way they would manage to snake a vehicle through the mess of the road. The good mood disappeared when they turned the corner just before the hill, and in the blink of an eye both men had their weapons out and were ducking for cover. Walkers milled around the cars on the approach to the rest stop, at least ten of them stumbling mindlessly through the abandoned vehicles. Daryl put the closest four down with his crossbow, and Rick took out two with his knife, sneaking up behind them and sticking the thing in their heads before they even knew he was there. They moved forward in the same manner, using stealth rather than their guns, hiding behind cars to shield their movements as Daryl retrieved his arrows from the heads of the dead and Rick covered him, stabbing anything that moved too close.

They had crested the hill, keeping to the edges of the road, where the trees might provide some cover or at least a quick escape, and Rick had stopped to stare in horror. Every time he closed his eyes, he still saw that scene, still felt like he was trapped, helpless, watching as his world crumbled.

The RV stood abandoned, its door wide open, dozens of walkers stumbling about outside it. The rest of their cars still sat parked in a semi-circle around the RV. Rick's gut clenched as he recognized Shane amongst the walkers, his stomach torn open and most of one arm gone.

He could feel the tears start to stream down his cheeks as he took in the whole scene. Another walker bumped into Shane, obviously female, her face unrecognizable but he saw the long brown hair, partly burned away. Near the front of the RV, Rick recognized his sheriff's hat lying abandoned in a pool of blood, the rim stained crimson.

"No." Rick didn't even realize he'd spoken aloud until Daryl clamped a dirty hand over his mouth and dragged him back behind one of the abandoned cars. Didn't realize he was shouting incoherently even with Daryl's hand over his mouth until the walkers turned and started ambling towards them. Rick fixated on the thing that had once been Shane, on the way its head twitched at the noise he was making, on its slow, stumbling steps as it approached. There was none of the grace in its movements that Shane had possessed in life.

"Shit." Daryl was dragging him back, away from the approaching hoard, and Rick fought him, struggling out of his hold and taking a shaky step towards the walkers. Towards what had once been Shane and possibly Lori, towards his old hat, maybe all that was left of his son, lying in that pool of blood. A hard blow staggered him to his knees, and he realized Daryl had punched him when the other man hauled him bodily up by the front of his shirt.

"What the hell's wrong with you? We gotta go, now! C'mon!" He glanced nervously over his shoulder at the walkers that were closing in on them, muscles twitching as though he needed to fight or run or both, but he didn't, just shouldered his crossbow and pulled out his gun and shook Rick, hard. "Snap the fuck out of it," he growled, leaning in close. "That ain't Shane and your family ain't here. We gotta move. Let's go."

There was the usual anger in Daryl's voice, but underneath it was a desperation that pulled Rick out of his daze and let him push the reality of what had happened out of his mind, gave him something to focus on, someone to help. He drew his gun and fired at the closest walker in one smooth motion. The thing dropped mid-step, and a few behind it tripped over its body, but the hoard pressed closer. Beside him, Daryl raised his own gun and took out ten walkers in rapid succession, until his gun clicked on empty and he shoved it back into his belt with a curse, reaching for his crossbow instead. Ten walkers was not nearly enough to keep them safe, not when dozens more were behind them, but it cleared out the front of the herd enough that Rick could target the thing that had been Shane in the crowd, then the faceless woman with brown hair. They dropped bonelessly to the ground with two quick shots. It was as much of a burial as he could give them.

"'Bout fucking time," Daryl muttered, sounding relieved, as Rick grabbed the other man by the arm and started running back down the road. They sprinted to the bottom of the hill, putting some distance between themselves and the approaching walkers, eyes alert for any more that might come from the side, attracted by the gunshots. At the bottom of the hill, they slowed to a fast jog, a pace that would keep them ahead of the slow-moving walkers but wouldn't tire them too quickly. They wove their way through the abandoned vehicles, weapons at the ready, eyes alert for more danger. Daryl barely paused as he shot what had once been a woman through the head when she stumbled out of the trees towards them. Rick killed another by bashing it in the head with the butt of his gun as it lurched out of a nearby car.

"What now?" Daryl asked after they'd rounded the curve of the road and the herd of walkers dropped out of sight. They slowed but kept moving, not foolish enough to think that the walkers would stop the chase that quickly.

Rick ran a hand through his hair, looked over at Daryl. The man was reloading his gun, the crossbow slung over one shoulder, resting on the small backpack of food and water and ammo he carried. Rick realized with a start that he must have dropped his own pack at the top of the hill. The rest of their supplies were back at the RV where…

_Don't think about it_, he reminded himself. _Don't think, don't think, don't think. Just think about what's ahead. What you're going to do. Daryl needs you, think about Daryl._

But who was he kidding? Daryl didn't need him. Daryl didn't need anybody. The man had proven that time and time again. Rick still wasn't sure why Daryl hadn't left him for walker bait, why Daryl had dragged him back away from that herd when all he'd wanted to do was run into it, to find some kind of sign that Carl was still alive and that faceless woman with brown hair wasn't Lori, when all he'd wanted was to die with his family. He didn't understand why Daryl had stood by him as the walkers stumbled nearer, had raised his gun in Rick's defense when Rick stood unthinkingly in the path of the herd looking for a chance to shoot the monsters wearing the shells of the people he'd loved. He didn't understand why Daryl didn't just leave him now, why he asked Rick what they should do rather than heading off alone into the woods. He didn't understand, but he didn't ask because Daryl was the only thing holding him together at this point. The only thing familiar in this brand new ugly world.

Rick swallowed, pulling himself together and back to the present. "We need supplies. Won't last long without them. We'll head back to that barricade, find a car, pick up what was there. Too many cars on the road between here and there to take one of these – we'd never get through. We also need to get out of the open. You think you can lead us back there through the woods?"

Daryl squinted up at the sun, glanced around at the hills surrounding them. "I can try." He gestured to a distant hill with a rocky granite tor on its top. "That barricade was just east of that mountain. Long as we can keep that sawtooth in our sights we should be able to find it."

"Then that's what we'll do," Rick decided. "We'll get supplies, a car, hopefully some gas, and figure out where to go from there." It was the best he could offer. The best he could think of when he was trying so hard not to think at all.

Daryl nodded and began to pick his way down the steep embankment to the side of the road. Rick stopped and turned around, his gaze going immediately to the hill just beyond where the road curved, his thoughts going to a darker place.

Daryl paused at the treeline, looking back at Rick standing in the middle of the road. "You comin'?" he asked.

"Yeah," Rick nodded, turning away from the sight of that hill. "I'm right behind you."


	3. Chapter 3

**Ch. 2**

They'd already done sixteen miles that day, there and back to the army barricade, but as the sun started to set Rick and Daryl glanced at each other and came to a silent agreement that they'd press on. Rick didn't think he could sleep anyway, because sleeping meant stopping and stopping meant thinking and then he wouldn't be able to push away the nightmare of that rest stop anymore.

So he concentrated on Daryl's back as he picked their way through the darkening woods, on the roots and fallen logs that tried to trip him up, on the sounds of the forest around them, and resolutely did not think.

It was slow going once full dark fell. The moon was waning and the meager light that managed to break through the canopy of trees only served to make the ground look deceptively flat. Rick found himself tripping through the understory more often than not, and envied the smooth, practiced ease with which Daryl weaved his way around unseen obstacles. More than once, Daryl brought them to an abrupt halt, swinging his crossbow off his shoulder and holding it at the ready, body tense. Rick tensed with him and drew his knife, senses straining to find what had put Daryl on edge, but all he heard and saw was the empty woods around him. They'd escaped most of the herd from the road before night fell, but had been forced to put down a few stragglers that had stumbled their way into the woods. They hadn't seen a walker since before sunset, but Rick understood Daryl's caution, even if he wasn't sure he shared it. What more was there to lose?

The ground started to change under Rick's feet, and he realized Daryl was leading them uphill. It got steeper as they went, and eventually they broke out of the woods into a small clearing. The dim moonlight made the shadows of the trees dance a somber rhythm on the waving grass.

Daryl cursed and dropped his pack onto the ground, sinking heavily down beside it with a weary sigh. "We gotta stop."

"Here?" Rick asked, looking around them. There was nothing. Just grass and trees and the darkness beyond. "What about those supplies?" They were something he could focus on, and he didn't want to stop, because then…

Daryl shrugged. "We'll live without them for a night. We don't stop, I'm just gonna get us lost. Ain't no way to tell which way that mountain is from here. Not in this light. And I'm shit at reading stars. We shoulda stopped awhile ago."

"It'll be cold," Rick argued, trying to find a reason that they should keep moving.

Daryl just shrugged again. "So we build a fire. Plenty of wood around here."

"But that herd…" Rick glanced nervously over his shoulder, as if they would materialize out of the woods, hoping Daryl's survival instincts would get the best of his common sense. Hell, it wouldn't be the first time, and if it meant that they kept moving, that Rick could keep the thoughts at bay…

But Daryl didn't rise to the bait, just cast Rick a long, indecipherable look that made Rick shift under its intensity before he finally answered. "We're at least four miles out through rugged terrain. AIn't no way more than a few could've managed to follow us, and even those would be dumb luck. We're as safe here as anywhere." What he didn't say, didn't need to say, was that nowhere was safe. Not anymore.

Daryl levered himself to his feet and began to kick at a clump of grass. "Look, go find us some firewood. I'll make a firepit that should hide most of the fire we make."

It was something to do, since it seemed he'd lost the argument that they should keep moving, so Rick obeyed. The forest was old, littered with downed branches and twigs dried by the crisp rainless fall, so it wasn't long before Rick re-emerged into the small clearing with an armful of firewood. Daryl was still working at digging out a firepit with his hands and the toe of his boot, so Rick brought back another armload, and then another, until a good sized pile of branches crushed the grass next to where Daryl worked.

Daryl piled some leaves and small twigs up in the center of his crude firepit and pulled out a Zippo from his back pocket. The leaves caught quickly, and soon Daryl was feeding larger sticks and then branches to the dancing flames. He was careful to keep the fire low, and the wood was dry enough that it burned clean, only a thin whisp of smoke curling up to the sky. Rick doubted it could be seen from beyond the edge of the meadow.

Rick sank down across the fire from Daryl, holding his hands out over the small fire. "It'll still be cold," he said childishly, still stubbornly trying to find something that would get them moving again.

"We'll survive. Done it before. Better one cold night with supplies tomorrow than me getting us lost and us wandering 'til a walker or thirst gets us." Daryl leaned back and snagged his backpack from where he'd abandoned it at the base of a decaying tree stump. Rick watched detachedly as he rummaged around in it, pulling out an energy bar and a half-full bottle of water. He tossed the water to Rick, and opened the energy bar, breaking it roughly in half before throwing Rick his share. "Got one more left. And no more water. We gotta get to that barricade tomorrow and better hope to hell there's more than just weapons and ammo there, or we'll be in a world of hurt. 'Specially if we don't got no way to boil some more water." He peered at the label on the remaining energy bar. "Banana split flavor? Who the hell comes up with this shit?"

Rick just shrugged, taking a few drinks from the water bottle before tossing it back to Daryl. They were lucky it was fall, and a cool fall at that, or they'd be in a lot more trouble with the water situation than they were. He ate his half of the energy bar mechanically. It tasted like ash in his mouth, but he knew he had to eat. Daryl needed him. Daryl hadn't left him behind. Daryl had stood beside him when the world went to hell and Rick needed to keep going so he could return the favor.

They ate in silence, broken only by the sounds of the forest around them. The only noises were the rustle of the few remaining leaves on the trees as the wind blew through them, the sounds of crickets chirping, an owl screeching. It was peaceful, almost, and Rick could pretend that this was another life, that he was just out camping with a friend (and when had he started to consider Daryl a friend rather than a loose cannon that needed defusing?) and he could go home to Lori and Carl, and there'd be a plumbing problem _again_ because eighty year old pipes didn't mesh well with twenty-first century technology. He'd try to fix the pipes and end up calling a plumber, and Lori would fix them all wings while they settled on the couch together to watch the Falcons game, cheering them on all the way.

He lost himself in that fantasy, enough so that he jumped when Daryl moved, throwing the wrapper of the energy bar they'd just shared into the fire. The flames flared bright green for a moment as the wrapper crumbled in the heat, turning to ash in a few seconds.

Daryl looked up at him from across the fire, something unreadable in his face. _Don't_, Rick wanted to tell him. _Don't say it. Don't make this real_.

"I'm sorry, man," Daryl said, the words hesitant like they were something he wasn't sure he should say.

And maybe he shouldn't have, because those words were the last straw and Rick found himself unable to hold back the flood any longer. The grief that he'd been trying to hold at bay rose in his chest like bile, and there was no way to hold back the tears or the sobs that erupted from him as he hunched forward on his knees, forehead pressed to the grass. The cool dew that spotted the field felt good against his forehead, and he cursed it, tearing up clods of grass with his hands and hurtling them into the fire, because nothing should feel good right now. Nothing was right. Nothing could ever be right again.

A distant, clinical part of his mind told him that he was being a fool, that the noise he was making would bring any walkers in the area down on their heads in an instant, but he didn't listen. Couldn't listen as the thought of what he'd seen, of what he'd done, overwhelmed him. That same part of his mind registered surprise as he felt a hand on his back. Daryl. That detached part of him expected the contact to be quick and gruff, like the man himself, and was surprised when instead of a fleeting gesture of comfort, Daryl sat down next to him, almost close enough that they were touching. He didn't speak, and for that Rick was grateful, because really, what words could be said?

Rick let himself cry, let Daryl's warm hand on his back be an anchor for his grief, as the trees swayed around them and the stars moved over them. He thought of Lori and Carl and Shane, and he let himself mourn.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: ** Apologies for the long wait in between chapters – I had a lot of trouble getting this part out. The good news is that when I got stuck on this part, I wrote some on the next part, so the next chapter is about ½ finished already and it shouldn't be such a wait in between the two. Thank you so much to those who reviewed – I value each and every one! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy! I should also note that I know nothing about explosives beyond what I've seen in bad action movies, so hopefully this doesn't read too ridiculously.

* * *

><p><strong>Ch. 3:<strong>

Rick didn't know when he'd fallen asleep, but he woke when Daryl jostled him, annoyance evident in the other man's tone. "Hey, wake up. We should get moving now that it's light."

It _was_ light, Rick realized, blinking open his eyes. They were crusty from the tears of the night before, and he rubbed at them irritably when his eyelashes stuck together. _Carl, Lori, Shane_, he thought before he could stop himself, and scrubbed at his eyes again when new tears started to form.

"You good to go?" Daryl was crouching near their small fire, separating the remaining embers with a stick. Rick expected some comment about the night before, some sign of derision about the way he'd fucking lost it, but Daryl only kicked at the last of the smoldering embers and stood, squinting off into the distance.

"We veered off course a bit last night, but it shouldn't take too long to make up the lost time. I'd guess it's 4, maybe 5 miles back to that garrison. Don't see any movement down there. Hopefully that means that hoard mostly wandered off in the opposite direction."

"Did you stay up all night?" Rick asked, moving up beside Daryl, forcing his own whirling thoughts down in his mind. _Focus on the here and now _he reminded himself. _What's past is past._ It was easier said than done.

Daryl just shrugged. "Gone on less before." He chuckled. "There were times when Merle and me… aw, hell, you don't need to hear that," he cut himself off. "Don't matter anyway. Quicker we get going, the quicker we get there. You ready?"

Rick nodded, standing and dusting off the leaves and grass that clung to him from sleeping on the bare ground.

The morning was warm, the first in a long time, and sunny, and Rick cursed the fact that it was a beautiful day now that his world had fallen apart. He cursed a god he hardly believed in anymore for mocking him like this, for making the first full day that his family was dead a beautiful one. Somehow, it just wasn't fair.

Daryl led them off down the hill. They moved faster now that it was light and they could see the obstacles at their feet. Daryl led them up a few more hills, pausing at the top to check their progress against the hill they were using as their landmark. Occasionally he would alter their course slightly, and their goal got larger and larger with each brief stop they took.

The sun was high above them and hot by the time they emerged from the trees into the maze of cars packing the road, moving slowly with weapons drawn as they scanned the road for movement. The barricade was just ahead, and beyond it the small city of FEMA trailers and portable offices that had been hastily erected to provide support and shelter. It was a good location, Rick noted detachedly. The hills around them sloped down sharply on either side of the road, and the mountains beyond cut down on the chances of anything stumbling upon the small make-shift base from the opposite direction. A thick cement wall blocked the road in the opposite direction. Only one way in, which made it easy to defend. It also made it a death trap if they were overwhelmed, which was what must have happened to the soldiers here.

The hastily erected barricade and camp were as eerily silent as the first time they'd been there. Even quieter, now that the few walkers that had roamed the camp had already been taken care of. Still, they slipped between the piles of sandbags with caution, moving in tandem as they checked the place out. Rick found himself slipping into his police academy days, pulling up training he hadn't thought of in years, and hadn't practiced in even longer. Daryl fell into step easily with him, though how he knew to do so puzzled Rick, and for a moment Rick felt like it was Shane here with him, still alive and whole rather than torn apart with Rick's bullet through his skull.

"Looks clear," Daryl said, when they had circled through the camp once and not seen any signs of movement. Rick couldn't help but notice the way Daryl fidgeted, sending nervous glances over his shoulder as he spoke. Rick felt the same, some intangible sense of something being wrong rolling in his gut and making him jumpy. Maybe it was the fact that this place was too good to be true, stocked full of ammo and food and weapons. Maybe it was the fact that they'd managed to evade the hoard from yesterday on foot with little trouble. Maybe it was just that everyone else was dead, and nothing could be right after that. Whatever it was, Rick felt it, and could see Daryl did too.

"We need a vehicle," Daryl said, pulling Rick away from his thoughts. He nodded towards a pair of Humvees parked next to one of the trailers. "What about one of those?"

Rick thought about it for a moment. The vehicles were sturdy and strong but… "No, it'll use too much gas. We'll have to stop and search for fuel all the time if we take one of those. Let's find something smaller."

Daryl gave a sort of satisfied nod and clapped Rick on the back. "Good to have you back," he said, and Rick wondered what the hell he meant by that.

They settled on a small SUV that had been parked near the entrance of the barricade. It was large enough for both of them to more or less comfortably recline the seats and sleep in them, and had a roof box that was already packed with camping gear. They dismantled a sand bag pile to maneuver it around the barricade and parked it inside the small encampment. The inside was full of personal items. Picture albums and a few stuffed toys were discarded carelessly on the ground to make room for weapons and food and water. Rick felt a small pang of guilt as he dumped what was left of these people's lives on the ground, but it soon passed. More likely than not, what was left of these people no longer cared about memories or comfort.

"We shouldn't stay here too long," Rick told Daryl once they'd finished emptying the car.

Daryl nodded his agreement. "Something ain't right here. Faster we can get out, the better."

"One hour?" Rick proposed, glancing around the small encampment. That should give them enough time to scavenge what they needed.

"Sound good," Daryl agreed. "Check in every fifteen minutes, back here at the car. Then we'll blow a hole through the back wall and get the hell out of here. I don't like it. Gives me the creeps." Rick couldn't help but agree.

They worked quickly and efficiently, first raiding the tanks that lined the perimeter of the place, bringing out weapons and ammo and even C-4 in spades.

"Don't even know what to do with this shit," Daryl exclaimed, "But fuck, man, we got ourselves some explosives!" Rick couldn't help but grin back, despite the thoughts that still weighed him down. Daryl's grin was infectious.

"Think I might remember how," Rick admitted, picking up the detonator and turning it over in his hands. "We had to go through training on how this worked, just in case we ever ran across it. Just stick in the detonator, mold the clay where you need it to go, and you've got yourself a bomb."

After they finished raiding the tanks and clearing the weapons, they moved on to the trailers. The first one they explored was a make-shift clinic, and held enough meds to ensure they wouldn't be lacking for awhile. While Rick was working on clearing out the pharmacy, Daryl found what must have been the kitchen, and began loading their new car with as many non-perishables as he could find. It didn't take much beyond their allotted hour to fill the SUV with enough gear to keep them healthy and fed for several weeks. Except…

"We need gas," Daryl said, and Rick agreed. They'd managed to find two gas canisters and siphon them full, but it wasn't nearly enough. Rick gestured to the last trailer they hadn't explored, a double-wide whose windows were boarded over. The sheer amount of electrical equipment surrounding the trailer made him think it might have been command central before the garrison was overrun. If any place was likely to have a surplus of gas, Rick figured it would be there. The presence of several generators stationed along the edge of the trailer only served to support his suspicions.

Daryl nodded, checking his crossbow before approaching the door, cautiously turning the handle.

A loud wailing noise erupted from several speakers mounted on poles that Rick had somehow failed to notice before. There was no way to miss them now. Daryl jumped back from the door with a curse, letting go of the handle as it swung shut, but the noise continued. Daryl raised his crossbow, looking around frantically for any sign of walkers, as Rick ran over pulled the wiring from what appeared to be a solar battery. The sound died instantly, though Rick could still hear it ringing in his ears.

The door, which hadn't managed to close all the way before Rick cut the alarm, began to swing outwards, gray fingers visible along its edge.

Daryl cursed again, throwing himself against the door, but found himself forced back as the sheer number of the dead inside the building overwhelmed him, pushing the door open despite his attempts to close it.

"Get out of there!" Rick shouted, bringing his pistol up to aim at the decaying faces he could see in the crack of the door. The shots rang out once, twice, three times, and he saw the dead drop under his onslaught, but still more pushed their way through. Daryl swung himself up and over the side railing of the trailer's walkway, giving up on trying to keep the door closed. Without Daryl there to try and hold them, the door swung open wide and walkers came spilling out.

Rick looked around frantically. There was no telling how many were inside the trailer. There was little shelter, not against so many, and they were cut off by the line of cars on one side and the cement wall on the other. There was no way for them to try to outrun the hoard in their car. The Humvees parked next to the adjacent trailer might provide a good escape. If they could get up and on top of the trailer, maybe they could take out the walkers and make it out of here with their car stocked full of provisions. He shouldered the bag of supplies he had just gathered and made a decision.

Rick ran, grabbing Daryl and towing him along beside him as the dead began to spill out of the trailer that Daryl had just vacated. "Up there," he hissed, gesturing to the roof of the trailer as he pushed Daryl in front of him. Daryl clambered up the side of the Humvee, pausing on the roof to turn around and offer his arm to Rick.

"Come on," Daryl yelled, gesturing frantically, as Rick pulled out his pistol and took out the two nearest walkers. At least ten more were on their tail, and Rick holstered the gun in one quick movement before grabbing Daryl's arm and swinging himself up.

Daryl grunted, grabbing onto the open weapons port of the Humvee to keep his balance as he levered Rick onto the roof, weapons bag and all. They paused there for a moment, catching their breath, before Daryl swung himself up onto the trailer roof, using the gun turret and rain gutter as leverage. Rick tossed him the duffle over his shoulder and accepted Daryl's arm again to swing himself up.

"Shit," Daryl drawled, surveying the scene. More and more of the dead poured out of the building Daryl had opened, and a few were even stumbling in from the surrounding woods, attracted by the noise of the siren and Rick's gunfire. Already some of the dead from the command center were flailing against the side of the trailer Rick and Daryl were taking refuge on top of. Daryl pulled his own handgun out of the holster attached to his belt and began shooting the walkers that were threatening the trailer. It was no use, though, as the trailer rocked under the assault as even more walkers joined the pack below them, mindlessly scrambling for fresh meat.

"This ain't working," Daryl growled, shooting yet another walker in the head. It was replaced by at least two more.

Rick nodded his agreement, digging through the duffle that he'd brought up to the roof with him. "Gotta try something different. We keep on trying to shoot them, we'll end up out of ammo before we get them all. And that's only if we're lucky enough to keep them from tipping the trailer before we do."

"So whaddya suggest?" Daryl asked, grimly continuing to take aim and reduce the number of walkers surrounding their position.

Rick grinned despite himself. Despite their desperate situation and the hollow feeling in his chest. "How about some fireworks?" he asked, holding up the pilfered C-4.

Daryl just grinned back, still focusing his firepower on the threat surrounding them. Rick worked quickly, Daryl's shotgun a rhythmic timekeeper in the background. He quickly separated the clay, and stuck fuses into it as best he could remember from training. He had twenty of the bombs readied with blasting caps in short order, and stuffed them into the duffle he'd brought them in, leaving the detonator lying on the rooftop.

"Cover me?" he asked Daryl once he was finished, and shouldered the duffle when the other man grunted an affirmative.

Walkers clawed at the edge of the trailer, hands reaching for Rick as he swung his legs over the side. He punted the duffle down through the roof opening of the vehicle, managing to get it more or less into the passenger seat, before taking a deep breath and swinging down himself.

Rick slid in through the open weapons port, somehow managing to turn on the keys even as he struggled to get situated in the seat before slamming on the gas. The car tore away from the mob surrounding it, and Rick rolled down the window, scrabbling for the explosives they'd prepped. He drove slowly enough that most of the hoard remained interested in him rather than Daryl, though he could hear the rhythmic blasts of Daryl's shotgun as he took out walkers from the trailer rooftop. He made a wide arc around the trailer, dropping explosives as he did so, making sure to place a few of the larger ones up against the cement wall that blocked the road. Once he finished, he circled back around to the line of parked cars on the highway and quickly broke the window on one of the nicer, newer looking cars. The alarm instantly went off, and Rick noticed a good number of the walkers turn away from the trailer that Daryl was on top of and start to head for Rick's position. He dropped several more explosives around the car. As he neared the line of approaching walkers, he hit the gas and broke through their line, running over a few that registered as slight bumps under the wheels of the Hummer.

Rick pulled up next to the trailer he and Daryl had taken refuge on top of, clambering out of the weapons port and swinging the gun around to take out the small group that was following him. A larger number were still focused on the wailing car alarm. Rick climbed back up on top of the trailer, using the gun turret to boost himself up high enough to hook a leg over the edge. The group of walkers that had been distracted by the car alarm started to lose interest and turned back towards where the two men were trapped on the roof.

"Daryl, get down!" Rick shouted, holding up the detonator. Daryl took one last shot at the approaching walkers before diving down onto the roof, gripping the flimsy gutter on the sides to brace himself, face tucked into his arm. Rick did the same, pushing the detonator as soon as he was down.

The noise was unbelievable. It was like they were sitting in the middle of a thunder clap. Rick _felt_ the noise, in his ears and in his bones, as the trailer shuddered underneath them. For a moment, all was silent, even the wailing of the car alarm, and Rick feared he'd gone deaf. Then sound rushed back in, and he could hear the clang of metal against cement.

He took stock of himself and stood, surveying the scene. A few walkers still moved near the trailer, clawing at its side in a mindless attempt to reach them, despite the fire that caught their clothes and hair, or the pieces of what had once been cars that stuck from their backs. He raised his pistol and shot them, slowly and methodically. One by one they fell to the ground.

Daryl whooped, clapping Rick on the back as he moved up behind him. "Take that you dead motherfuckers!" he shouted, turning towards the carnage, unleashing a few shots of his own to take care of the remaining walkers.

Rick just stood there woodenly, feeling numb as he took in the smoldering pieces of flesh, the blackened bits of cars, littering the highway before them. Movement caught the corner of his eye, and he turned, squinting against the sunlight to see a charred, blackened body still determinedly crawling its way towards them. Its lower half was missing and he thought about bicycle girl, about when he'd woken up into this nightmare. He raised his rifle and took the shot. The thing slumped down and didn't move again.

"Waste of a shot. Wasn't going to hurt nothing like that." Rick jumped when Daryl moved back up beside him.

Rick shrugged. "They were human once." _Lori had been human once. Shane. _"If Carl's out there like that, I hope someone would do the same for him."

Daryl didn't say anything else, not about wasted ammo or about the way Rick's voice wavered, cracking, as he spoke and for that Rick was grateful. The small fires around them were dying down, but that didn't mean they were safe.

"Anything around here would've heard that," Daryl said at last, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," Rick agreed, not moving.

"So where we gonna go?" Daryl asked, and Rick still didn't understand why the other man stuck around, why he looked to Rick for answers when he knew as well as Rick did that there were none. Daryl would be fine on his own. He could just take off, leave Rick here, let whatever came to investigate the noise of the explosion take Rick. But he didn't, and it was frustrating. And Rick didn't have the fight in him to tell Daryl to just leave.

"Does it matter?" Rick answered. This world was dead and it was only a matter of time until they were too. He thought about Jenner, and his secrets, and his truths. _I'm grateful_, Rick had said. Jenner's answer still echoed in his memory. _The day will come when you won't be_.

Daryl scowled, spitting on the ground. "East. We'll go east. See if there's anything left. T-Dog was always going on about heading that way, and it's as good a direction as any."

Daryl dropped down onto the hood of the Humvee with a metallic thump, and Rick followed. The debris still smoked around them as they made their way to where they'd left the small SUV they'd stocked full of supplies. Daryl pushed Rick into the passenger seat and Rick thought about protesting, about pointing out that Daryl hadn't slept the night before and that Rick should drive, but it was too much effort. Rick felt weary, tired, the world a weight that pressed down on him from all sides. The adrenaline was fading, and its absence let the memories of the past few days filter back into his thoughts. As Daryl maneuvered the car through what was left of the cement wall that had blocked their exit, Rick closed his eyes against the glare of the sun and the blurring forest and pretended he could hear his family in the back seat. Once on the open road, Daryl hit the gas and sped off, leaving the dead barricade behind them. They headed east, to see what they could find.

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><p><strong>End notes:<strong> This is the end of the more or less gen section of this fic – chapters from here on out will be slash. Also, this is about the half way point – 3-4 chapters to go depending on how long they end up being. Thanks again for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Thank you all for your kind reviews and I hope you continue to enjoy!

** Disclaimer: **The Walking Dead does not belong to me - I'm just playing around with these poor characters for awhile. 

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><p><strong>Ch. 4<strong>

There was nothing to the east. Each town they came to was dead or over-run, so eventually they pilfered a GPS unit from the dash of another vehicle and avoided the towns all together. Ironically, with everything that had gone to shit, the GPS still worked, that metallic, computerized voice telling them to turn left in a quarter mile. She would probably be broadcasting out into space long after the last of the human race died out.

They rarely used the camping gear that had been stashed in the roof box of the small SUV, choosing instead to sleep in the car, ready to flee at a moment's notice. Meals were hasty things, cooked low over a banked fire when they were cooked at all. Foraging trips were even more pathetic, quick and harried and efficient. They didn't need so much now, not with only the two of them. Their biggest concern was gas, but even on the back roads they ran into plenty of abandoned vehicles. The sheer number of road blocks made for slow going, and they were often forced to find a different way when they ran into road jams so bad there was no navigating through them.

What should have taken them under a day instead took four, between the backtracking and constant caution and the first two failed attempts at searching the small towns dotting the highway, which had forced them to flee aimlessly down unknown back roads. Rick's grief was still a physical lump in his throat, and Daryl had never been sociable at the best of times, so the mood in the car grew more and more tense as they traveled. Rick fully expected Daryl to kick him out and take off on his own, almost wished for it in fact, but the other man didn't. Even as Daryl's temper grew shorter and his words more biting, even when Daryl gave into temptation and slugged Rick across the jaw after one intensely heated argument, he never told Rick to go. In fact, he said the opposite. "You better fuckin' be here when I get back," he'd told Rick, before heading off into yet another maze of cars with an empty gas canister. Rick just rubbed at the slowly forming bruise on his jaw and waited.

Once they'd gotten used to each others constant presence, they talked a bit in the car. Made a plan. Daryl asked what they would do if they got to the coast and there wasn't anything there for them. Rick thought long and hard on it, watching the woods surrounding the backwater highway they were traveling speed by through his reflection in the window.

"Suppose we could find a boat, head up the coast, anchor off shore and see what we can find," he said at last. It seemed as good a plan as any.

"Boats take gas," Daryl pointed out.

"So we find a sailboat," Rick answered.

"You ever sailed before? 'Cause I ain't even been on the ocean before." And Rick had to admit that Daryl had a point. They were as likely to flip as to actually get anywhere.

Still… "It's better than nothing," Rick shrugged, and that was that.

The coast turned out to be a nightmare. Or rather, the approach to the coast, since they never even managed to make their way close to it. Apparently others had thought the same thing, and even the back roads leading down to the coast were clogged with abandoned cars and the dead. A large hoard greeted them just outside Brunswick, and yet another on the only bridge heading north. They backtracked then, leaving the paved back highways for a series of forest roads that Daryl said looked like they might take them all the way to the coast. The satellite image that downloaded in the GPS looked like a bunch of scribbled green lines to Rick, so he gave Daryl the benefit of the doubt and turned when Daryl and the machine said they should turn. It ended with their car nearly stranded in a swamp, with Rick cursing Daryl and Daryl cursing the fucking machine that couldn't tell a seasonal road from a year-round one. They managed to push the car out with the help of a few boards pilfered from an abandoned house not far off the road, and sat fuming in silence as they poured over the maps, the paper ones this time, their confidence in the electronic one shot to hell and back.

"Where to now?" Rick asked finally, sighing wearily. Daryl shot him a concerned glance, and Rick was pretty sure he could understand why. Daryl's face was drawn and pale under his tan, with dark circles under eyes that were puffy from lack of sleep. Despite the fact that they no longer needed to ration food, he could see Daryl had lost weight, his jeans hanging loosely from his hips. Rick had no doubt he looked much the same.

Daryl shook his head, spitting in the dirt at his feet. "Fuck, man, we need a break. We need to sleep, a good night's sleep for once. Or we'll be dead before the month's up."

Rick nodded, glancing around them. They were in the coastal swamps, and the land lay flat and wet around them. It was monotonous in its homogeneity, stretching out for as far as the eye could see. "We'll find something," Rick promised. "There's someplace out there that's safe. There has to be." As if saying it enough times could make it true.

It did seem to calm the wildness in Daryl's eyes. "Okay," Daryl said, opening the driver's side door. "Okay, we can do this. Let's go."

It took them a surprisingly short amount of time to find a temporary shelter, and Rick found himself thanking God for that before he remembered he didn't believe in the Almighty anymore, or at least they weren't on speaking terms and hadn't been for quite awhile.

Their shelter was in the form of a water tower, surrounded by a strong fence topped in barb wire and accessible only by ladder. During the day, they worked on securing the area, first building an overhang and walls out of wood scavenged from nearby sheds around the railing of the water tower, both to keep the rain off and hide the small fires they built at night to keep warm. It wasn't much, but it kept them dry and it kept them comfortable, and after days of living in fear and numerous sleepless nights, that was enough. In the days that followed, they drug more wood and bricks from the nearby houses, and worked on fortifying the chain link fence that surrounded the water tower.

At night they huddled under the small overhang they had built, warming their hands over the small fire before dousing it and crawling into their sleeping bags. The metal grating was hard underneath their sleeping pads, but at least they were safe there, and Rick watched as the shadows disappeared from beneath Daryl's eyes and he began to put on weight again. Rick also felt stronger than he had before, in the weeks after Lori and Carl's death when every waking moment was one of fear and anxiety, and he found as time went on that he could move back to the normal holes on his belt rather than the few he'd cut with Daryl's knife.

Some days they ventured out, trying to scavenge what they could or patrolling the area around their shelter to make sure no walkers trespassed there. "Last thing we need is to get trapped up here," Daryl had said, and Rick agreed. As safe as their new home was, it could just as easily turn into a death trap, and they made sure to keep the fire low and their conversations quiet.

Days and then weeks passed there, as the nights grew colder and their companionship easier. Rick found that Daryl lost his temper less often these days, although the other man would still sometimes remove himself from their small shelter in a huff, sitting alone and staring out at the forest around them for hours at a time. Rick learned not to bother him when he was in those moods after the first time, when Daryl threw a punch that almost knocked Rick over the railing. Daryl had been quick to grab him and steady him, and gave a half-hearted apology, instantly followed by a muttered "Just leave me the fuck alone," which Rick willingly obliged.

As the weeks passed, Rick felt his grief grow more distant, more controllable, if not any less fierce, and found that in the quiet moments he could think about Lori and Carl and Shane, and even the rest of their group, and focus on the good times they'd had and the memories that they'd made rather than the black hole in his chest that was their absence. It almost felt like a betrayal at first, but he realized he was healing, as much as anyone could heal from such a loss, and it was good to be able to think of them fondly again.

Still, sometimes at night, Rick would dream about Lori, and cry himself awake only to find Daryl pressed up against his side, watching him. "Dreaming again," Daryl would mutter, looking away. "You good?" Rick always said yes, whether he actually was or not, and Daryl would move back to his own sleeping pad. Rick wondered what Daryl would do if he said no, he wasn't okay. He fingered the cooling sleeping bag, and missed having someone to sleep next to.

Sometimes the dreams were not nearly so innocent or sad, and Rick would wake up with the memory of Lori's lips on his, of her tracing the contours of his ribs with her mouth and moving down lower, the feeling of his hands and mouth running over her smooth skin on a lazy Sunday morning. Rick didn't know if Daryl woke up when he dreamed those dreams like he did for Rick's nightmares, but the other man was never beside him when he woke with a start from Lori's ghost haunting his thoughts. Those times, Rick would wait, listening in the dark for Daryl's breathing, before taking himself in his own hands and finishing what the Lori of his dreams had started.

He couldn't say when it was that the two types of dreams started to meld together, when Daryl pressed up against his side when he awoke from nightmares turned into Daryl moving over him in his dreams. Sometimes it was even both of them in his dreams, and that was the most confusing of all because Lori would never have been okay with that, and the real Daryl seemed to have the sex drive of a wet sock, and Rick wondered when the world had changed so much that he could think about Daryl and sex in the same sentence.

He ignored those dreams, and never mentioned them to Daryl, though he found himself watching Daryl as time passed, noticing the grace with which Daryl moved through the woods, crossbow held ready in case of attack, the way he rubbed his face when he was nervous or uncomfortable, the way he never seemed able to sit still for long, even when they were rained in and there was nothing to do but hang out around the fire in their sleeping bags and keep watch. _You're just lonely_, he told himself, trying to clamp down on his growing interest. _Daryl would never forgive you if you said anything. Hell, you'd be lucky if he didn't shoot you with his crossbow._ So time went on, and they hunted and patrolled and ate and slept and lived in each others' shadows, and Rick kept his thoughts to himself and reminded himself of Lori and Carl and how much he loved them, and most of the time it was enough.

The tipping point came the day that Daryl almost died. They were out scouting for supplies, looking for more gas so they could get wherever they needed to go once their most recent safe house proved to be anything but, and for iodine and vitamin C to treat the water they were running dangerously low on. They were finally running short on food, the relative safety of the past few months and the cold weather increasing their appetites, and they'd been taking down an increasing number of walkers on their patrols around the water tower. It didn't take long for them to reach a silent agreement that it would be time to move on soon, before they found themselves surrounded and stranded up in their little shelter, and had decided to go searching for supplies before they had to leave. They'd taken the car a little ways up the road, to what had once been a tiny one street town, figuring that the chances of a hoard of walkers was less there than anywhere else. Daryl had been walking in the lead, crossbow out in front, when Rick heard the tell-tale thump of the weapon releasing and Daryl's startled grunt of surprise from around the corner.

Rick sped up, turning the corner to find himself facing four walkers, another two behind them. Daryl was holding off yet another walker, pinned down on the ground by the body of an eighth one that had a bolt through its forehead. The four walkers turned their attention to Rick when they saw him, and he brought his weapon up and fired four shots in rapid succession. The walkers dropped lifelessly to the ground.

Rick could hear Daryl cursing in the background, but the other two walkers were bearing down on them so Rick aimed and took fire at those. Once they had fallen, he turned his attention to the struggle going on just in front of him. His gun was out of bullets, so he drew his knife and stabbed the walker trying to get at Daryl. The thing slumped down on top of the walker already lying on top of Daryl, and Rick threw both of them off of the other man with a grunt.

"You okay? They get you? You bit?" Rick frantically checked Daryl for blood or bites, hands patting at his arms and chest as his heart raced in his chest.

"'M fine," Daryl wheezed after a moment. "Just knocked the wind out of me."

The weight that had settled in Rick's chest lifted and before he knew it he'd pulled Daryl to him, forehead to forehead, and gave him a quick peck on the lips. "Thank god," he murmured, just breathing and letting the relief wash over him. It wasn't until he noticed how tense Daryl was against him that he realized what he'd done.

He shoved himself away from Daryl with a curse, feeling like a complete asshole and a fool all at once as Daryl sat there, stunned and trembling. _What the hell were you thinking?_ he scolded himself. He knew how skittish Daryl could be, had talked with Andrea and Shane about it when he'd first gotten to camp, before he'd gotten to know the man himself. He'd be lucky if Daryl didn't up and leave him then and there, and as much as Rick hated to admit it, he didn't think he'd last long on his own, not anymore, not without the thought of Lori and Carl out there to keep him going. Daryl's quiet company was all that had kept Rick moving for the last months, and without it Rick knew he was walker bait sooner rather than later. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but realized there was really nothing he could say that would make it okay.

Instead he stood, wiping some of the walker's blood that splattered his hand on his jeans. "Hopefully that's all of them," he said, holding out a hand to help Daryl up. To see if Daryl would let Rick help him up. It was as much of a truce as he could offer. "We should get moving, get what we can and get out of here before nightfall. If there's this many moving around in the day, I don't want to be here at night."

To his surprise, it was enough. Daryl grabbed Rick's hand and levered himself to his feet, dusting himself off as he pulled the bolt out of the dead walker's forehead and reloaded his crossbow. "Don't hear anything else," he muttered, not looking Rick in the eye. "But we should be careful anyway. Don't know how many might be inside these buildings and they're gonna be moving after that racket you made."

"That racket saved your life," Rick reminded him, grinning, grateful that Daryl was willing to forgive and forget, that he hadn't driven away the only person left in his life, the only thing left to care about. Daryl shrugged and gave a sort of half grin in return, though he was focused once again on the town around them, crossbow up and ready for danger.

When Rick took the lead, Daryl followed, maybe further behind and more quietly than he would have the day before, but he still followed. And Rick led them into the abandoned grocery store to search through what was left of the food on the shelves for anything they could use, and pointedly didn't talk about what had just happened, because it was all he knew how to do.

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><p><strong>End Notes: <strong>There was supposed to be much more Rick/Daryl in this chapter, but stubborn, emotionally stunted men are being stubborn and emotionally stunted… oh well, it will happen eventually (no really, it will)! Also, there may be a bit more of a gap between this update and the next than usual – unfortunately real life is very busy right now and I'm not sure how much time I'll have for writing until mid to late May. Thank you all again for reading and for your lovely reviews!


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